


Picture Perfect

by badskippy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gay Romance, M/M, Pining, Romance, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has a major crush.  His best-friend knows, his mother may suspect, his father ... well, he's clueless.  But really, it doesn't really matter because there is ZERO chance that Bilbo will ever met the sexy model on those romance novels.</p><p>Right??</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Books of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/gifts), [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts).



* * *

 

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!”

Belladonna slowly looked up from the daily receipts she was working on as she sat at the check-out. It had been a good day at Bag End Books, so she wasn’t entirely sure what her husband had a problem with. “What can’t you take, darling?”

“We are missing books!” Bungo shouted as he came stomping around the corner at the end of a long stack of books; moving towards his wife.

“Missing books?” Belladonna knew for a fact that they had gotten a new shipment this past week and there wasn’t a thing amiss; she had checked them herself. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“I have been checking inventory against sales,” Bungo stated, “and I’m telling you we are missing several books now!”

Belladonna calming recapped her pen, laid it down in front of her, straightened her shoulders and prepared herself; she’d seen this kind of behavior before in her beloved husband. Ever now and then, he got a wild hair up his still sexy arse and went off on a tangent about this, that or the other thing. Six months before, he had gotten himself worked up because _“some joker”_ was putting all the medical books back in the wrong areas! Pain Management had been found in the Natural and Homeopathic Remedies! Neurological Conditions were mixed with Nephrology Diseases and, what really set Bungo off, the Cardiology books were finding their way to the Digestive/Colorectal books!

Heaven forbid.

Turned out that the person responsibility was their elderly neighbor, who was a raving hypochondriac; despite never being sick a day in her life. Apparently she was so worked up; her GP had told her, once again, there was nothing wrong with her, but she was unconvinced. She was so sure she was dying, she had worked herself up into a froth and had come in, flipped through all the medical books, searching for any aliment that shared the same symptoms as her imaged one, and she was just putting the books back in whatever section she moved on to.

Belladonna took a deep breath. “Now, how did you come to the idea of checking in the first place?” She was sure this was nothing but it was best to humor him.

“Well,” Bungo said earnestly, totally missing the little smirk on Belladonna’s face. “I had put away most of the shipment we got in and I just happened to walk past one of the sections I filled a few hours before and I noticed that a book was missing.”

“A book,” Belladonna stated flatly. “A _single_ book? Maybe it just got sold very quickly.”

“At first I thought so too,” Bungo said, again missing the slight sarcastic lilt in his wife’s voice. “But it nagged at the back of my mind, so I finally checked the sales receipts and what did I find out, _we hadn’t sold any of that title that day!_ ”

“I see,” Belladonna nodded. “Are you saying that we are missing just this one book?”

“No. It’s several.”

“Several. Can you give me a specific number?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Belladonna wanted to laugh. Thirteen was hardly several, especially since the entire store held about a two hundred-thousand books in total. However, it was too soon to call out Bungo for over-reacting “Are they all the same title?”

“No; all thirteen are different titles.”

“Different titles. Are they by the same author?”

“No. Two are by Lucretia Demonte, three are by Louisa Benwick, two are from Jude Deveraux, two from Lady Brittany Summersall and the others are new authors.”

Belladonna nodded and turned over a few thoughts, all the authors Bungo named were well known historical romance novelists, so she naturally wondered about the unnamed ones. “Are they all in the same genre?”

“Yes.”

As she figured. “Is there anything beside genre that ties them together?”

Bungo looked down at the inventory sheet he held. “I don’t think so. The authors are unrelated, the publishing houses are different, and even the story lines were not the same.”

Belladonna took the sheet and looked it over. Bungo was right, the thirteen novels, while all romances, were set in different periods and each of the authors had different styles, some with vastly different use of prose, and while some were amost prim, a couple were not far from pornographic in their more — intimate scenes.

Suddenly, an idea hit her and she almost laughed; it couldn’t be that. Could it?

“Bilbo!” Belladonna called out.

“YES, MUM!” Bilbo called back from the back of the store where he was doing restocking. “I’M COMING.” Moments later, Bilbo came trotting up to the counter. “You needed me?”

“Yes, darling,” Belladonna smiled at her sweet boy. “Would you assist your father for me, take this list and gather one copy of each of these books.”

Bilbo looked confused but took the list. “Okay.”

“I’ll gather the top half of the list,” Bungo said, hurrying off; not needing the list.

Bilbo took a few steps as he glanced down at the paper in his hand but then came to a halt; slowly turning to look back at his mother. “Why … why do you want … all these?”

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “Your father thinks we have a burglar. You know how he gets.”

“A burglar,” Bilbo whispered tightly.

“It’s a long, ridiculous story,” Belladonna said with a shrug and then waving her sone off.

“Right,” Bilbo started off again.

It only took five minutes for the two men to return with the thirteen titles. They piled them on the counter and Belladonna arranged the books side by side so that Bungo and Bilbo could look at them.

Seeing right away that her suspicions were correct, she waved her hand over the line of books and said, “See anything?”

Bungo looked at the books in confusion; Bilbo didn’t look at them at all.

After a few minutes, Bungo admitted defeat. “I don’t see what you are getting at.”

“You don’t see anything in common with these books?” She asked her husband.

“No.”

“Look. Harder.”

While Bungo looked again, Bilbo started to walk away. “I’ll just go back to work and—”

“No, no,” Belladonna reached across the counter and held Bilbo back. “You take a look too and tell me if you see what I see.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “I don’t really—”

“I can’t see anything, Bella.” Bungo again came up short. “The periods are different, the titles don’t match or coordinate and even the length of the novels var—”

“Look at the pictures.” Belladonna was growing impatient.

Bungo shrugged. “What’s to look at? They are all the typical couple embrac—”

“They are the same man!” She loved her husband, but honestly, the man was clueless sometimes.

Despite the historical setting and attire of the couple, regardless of the position, never-mind that the female model was different, the male in each picture was unmistakably the same; the hawk-like nose, the long dark hair, the thick brows, the piercing blue eyes. Sure, on a few covers, he had a beard and in others he had stubble or was clean-shaven but there was no doubt; they were all the same guy.

“Oh,” Bungo said quietly.

“What we have here,” Belladonna said smugly, “isn’t a common thief but a young girl, who has developed a crush on this man and is simply collecting all the covers she can find with him on it.”

“Then why doesn’t she just buy them?” Bungo asked but it sounded half-hearted; he was embarrassed now. “And how can you tell it’s a young girl?”

“Easily,” Belladonna concluded. “A grown woman wouldn’t give a rat’s arse about purchasing a book just for the cover; who would even question her purchase. But a young girl, particularly a teenager girl, would be so self-conscious that she probably thinks everyone sees right through her and she would be embarrassed and shy about the whole thing.”

“Well …” Bungo knew he couldn’t really argue with that. “She still shouldn’t steal.”

“True,” Belladonna conceded. “But I also don’t think thirteen books are going to break us. I will keep my eye out for our secret … _paramour_ … and gently take care of it from here on out.” That was her clear message to Bungo, _let me handle it and don’t you dare confront the poor thing!_

He got it. “Yes, dear.” Bungo gathered up the books and headed off to put them away.

Bilbo also took that moment to make his exit, but his mother’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice right off, Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s mouth went dry but he still managed to get out, “I just … just didn’t—”

Belladonna hummed to herself. “As I said, I’m surprised.”

Her voice was light but to Bilbo it felt like a hammer blow. He made a mental note, that when he got to his room later, to find a more secure hiding spot for those thirteen novels under his bed.

 

 

To Be Continued ...

 

 

 

 


	2. Closeted Desire

* * *

 

“My mum knows,” Bilbo whispered loudly in the phone.

“Knows what?” Ori said on the other end, his mouth full as he munched on an apple.

“About … you know!”

There was silence for a moment, before Ori stated, “What? That you like your lovers like you hate some sentences?”

“What?”

“You know … with a 'dangling participle.'” Ori busted out laughing.

“That's not funny!”

“It's totally hilarious and you know it! Besides, she isn't stupid, she's probably suspected you were gay since you were twelve. Hell, she probably suspects us both!.”

“Suspecting it and having it confirmed are two different things.”

“I don't see what the problem is. Why don't you just tell them and be done with it?”

“My father would birth kittens if I told him--”

“I doubt it.”

“--and Mum would be worse! She'd want to actually met any guy I was dating!”

“And what's wrong with that?”

“Remember when you introduced Derek to Dori?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ori sighed. It had been a particularly bad idea, but Ori continued to insist that it wasn't about his being gay, or even that he was in a relationship with another man, and probably wasn't even about him sleeping with Derek. It was more that Derek had acted like a cocky, son-of-bitch, and seemed to think that because he was a 'big burly man', he could get away with acting like he owned Ori. Needless to say, Dori put the arsehole in his place, and Ori was so pissed with Derek's attitude, they broke up the next day.

But this was different.

“Bilbo,” Ori tried again. “Derek was a jerk and not the best example of a guy to bring home to the family.”

“Then why were you dating him in the first place?”

“Because he had a cock of biblical proportions and he knew exactly how to hit my sweet spot.”

“Ewww! I don't want to hear that?!”

“You asked! But besides, we're getting off topic. I know you, you would never date a guy just for his … assets … so I can't imagine what happened to me will happen to you.”

“Maybe not,” Bilbo said with a huff. “But that wasn't really what I meant when I said that she knows!”

“Then what they hell are we--”

“The books,” Bilbo hissed into the phone.

Ori almost chocked on his own laughter. “You mean she found out about your love for Romance Guy!”

“SHHHH!” Bilbo tried to hush Ori, as if Belladonna was right there sitting next to him.

“Oh my God! That's too funny!”

“It is not funny! I almost had a heart attack right there at the check-out counter!”

“So what happened?” Ori asked, trying to rein in his laughter.

“Well,” Bilbo said, taking a breath. “I was in the back--” Bilbo let the whole story pour out. From the basics of what Bungo was getting on about, his mother's knowing smiles and smirks and what he thought they did and didn't know.

“You're nuts,” Ori said when Bilbo was done. “I know your mum, and she is way too cool to be coy. If she really knew, she would have asked you point blank about it.”

Bilbo couldn't really argue with that. “I guess so.”

“And if you just told them, your dad would be fine after a bit. He may be a fusspot but he loves you and frankly, he would just worry if the guy was clean and disease free. In fact, I'd bet you he'd leave pamphlets on your bed about safe-sex and hygiene and all that.” Ori laughed again, because it was all true.

“That's exactly what I don't want to happen!”

“Stop being a pussy and just tell them! Your parents are the coolest parents in town; they aren't going to care.”

“No thank you. I'll tell them when it's the right time.” Bilbo wasn't sure when that was, but at twenty-two years old, it was so not the right time.

“I can see it now,” Ori snarked. “You'll wait until you're fifty and running off after the guy of your dreams and then, maybe, you might, sort of, kind of, tell them you might have feelings for him or something.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Ho, ho, it is to laugh.” Bilbo didn't find Ori's comment in the least bit amusing; it was too close to the truth to be a joke.

“You mark my words,” Ori said sagely, “one of these days, something or someone will come along and the choice will be taken out of your hands.”

“No one is going to force me to say anything.”

“Maybe Mister Romance will come into town and give you away!” Ori laughed.

“Please,” Bilbo snorted. “The chances of meeting him are slim to none … and that would be true in London or Liverpool or Bath or any big city, but for him to come to Hobbiton is even less unlikely.”

“You never know.”

“Besides, he's probably straight.”

“Again, you just never know.”

No, Bilbo knew. He looked down at the beautiful man splashed across all the novels he kept hidden and knew that it was nothing more than a crush, a whimsical dream, a fantasy. Regardless of how picture perfect the man was, Bilbo knew for a fact that he would never get to meet him.

Never.

But oh, how Bilbo wished.

 

 

To Be Continued ...

 

 

 

 


	3. The Unwanted Life

* * *

“I'm so over this shit,” Thorin groused, taking a healthy gulp of his beer. “It's not even funny.”

“Nature of the beast, mate,” Dwalin said, slamming his now empty bottle on the bar. He motioned for the bar-keep to bring another and then looked in the mirror behind the bar to make sure his mohawk was still looking good; it was. “You could just stop going.”

“Right,” Thorin huffed out, drinking the last of his bottle. “And then what do I send home to Dis, my fucking boots?”

“At least they're worth something,” Dwalin snarked and only laughed when Thorin shot him a bird.

Thorin had never wanted this life, never wanted to be famous or popular or expose himself. Somehow though, it had just happened. And he couldn't deny that the money was good, damn good, and that it helped back home. Dis no longer had to worry about feeding two growing boy. She didn't have to go without just so she would have enough money to pay the electric bill. She no longer had to wear their mother's old clothes, or buy Fili a second hand pair of shoes or Kili a hand-me-down jacket. And he, if he could go back in time and consider the choice again, he would of course take it in a heartbeat.

But just because he'd make the same decision again, didn't mean he had to like it.

“Have you thought about being the one behind the camera?” Dwalin asked, taking a drink from his new bottle.

“I'd have to go to school and there isn't the time or money for that,” Thorin stated, grabbing his new drink the bartender had just set before him.

“Fuck that,” Dwalin said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “You know damn well that you just pick up the camera, point it and shoot. It's the photo that counts, not the shit degree.”

“I still have to have money to buy a camera,” Thorin said, because he had thought about it. “And I do mean a good one. Then there is money for studio space, and computers, and don't forget the programs that go with it, not to mention all that time and work just to scrap together a few photo-shoots so that I can make less money than I am now! To be really successful takes years and right now, years are not what I have to spare.”

“You could cut your hair,” Dwalin suggested softly. “Get work over in Sci-Fi or Westerns.”

“Fuck you,” Thorin spat out. “I'm not cutting my hair!”

“It's just hair,” Dwalin teased.

“Oh, yeah?” Thorin said with a smirk. “You gonna be shaving the 'hawk then? Since it's just hair?”

Dwalin shot his cousin and best-friend a nasty look. They both knew that Dwalin's hair was a sore subject. He only had the mohawk because he had started going bald early, so that now, at twenty-eight, Dwalin determined to hang on to his hair until the bitter end, or until it all fell out. Then he'd shave his head, but until then, the 'hawk stayed. And of course, it cheesed him off that Thorin still had a full head of thick wavy hair at the same age. Sure, Thorin was going prematurely silver but it looked good on him and Dwalin would gladly take white hair like his brother, Balin; white hair was better than no hair.

“Look, if your not going to cut your hair--”

“I'm not.”

“--then you are going to have to accept that you will be on every fucking romance novel from now until your hair falls out on it's own.”

Thorin hung his head and wanted to cry.

It was all true. He had once talked his agent into letting him model for a muscle fantasy novel, really a cheap take off of Conan the Barbarian. He had worked out hard to tone up and pulled his hair into a braid pony-tail and had thought the photo-shoot and subsequent painting and book cover looked good! And it felt great to be photographed looking heroic and butch. But the book had tanked, received terrible reviews and the author, little dick-weasel that he was, insisted that it had been the cover and Thorin's personification of the main character that had soured the readership; totally overlooking that the reviews called the writing _'total crap'_ and _'not worth the paper it was printed on'_ and worse of all, _'so bad it read like someone had written it while having a massive shit in a petrol station loo.'_

Ouch.

But the damage had been done. Thorin got no more offers from the Fantasy/Sci-Fi artists and not willing to let Dis and the boys suffer, went right back to work posing for Rom Novels. It didn't help, either, that every book he appeared on went on to be big money makers.

It sealed his fate. Just as it did today.

It was his day off. He just wanted to go to the store and find something really great, an actual gift not a gift-card, for Dis' birthday. Dwalin came along, and for awhile, everything was fine. But after the first hour, they both became aware that they were being followed and not long after that they heard the whispering. 'Is that him?' 'Could it be?' 'Oh, God, he's so much better looking in person!' And before they knew it, they were surround by women of all ages, all wanting to talk to him, touch him, wanting his autograph, have a pic taken with him, anything, just so long as they could slide up and wrap their arms around him and make passes at him.

Dwalin thought it hilarious but Thorin had to make a run for it. That was how they ended up, holed up in the middle of the day in a dark bar, drinking.

“You know what you need?” Dwalin said, seriously.

“A hole in the head?” Thorin didn't even lift his head off the bar to answer.

“A fucking holiday.”

“I don't have time.”

“Sure you do,” Dwalin said, turning sideways and yanking Thorin into an upright position. “When is your next shoot?”

“In two days.”

“And the one after that?”

“Two days after the next.”

“Okay,” Dwalin said, a smile forming. “You call and reschedule for the follow week. Tell them you have a family emergency or something.”

“They'll never believe it.”

“Doesn't matter the excuse. You are too hot for them not to use you. You see; call your agent, tell him you are taking … five days to see your sister.”

“Dwalin, it won't--”

“You don't know if you don't try.” Dwalin picked up Thorin's phone and handed it to him. “Call him.”

Thorin sighed and decided that it was worth a shot. And bizarrely, it worked! Just like that; easy breezy! Now the only problem was ---

“So where are we going?” Thorin sure as hell wasn't going alone.

“Hey, Patrick!” Dwalin called the barkeep over. “You got a map?”

“A map?!” The guy scratched his head. “Of London, you mean?”

“All of England if you got it.”

Patrick thought for a second and then turned around and left. He was back in two minutes and had a dirty, old map in his hands. “This is all I got.”

“It'll do.” Dwalin got up, walked over to the dart board, pulled out the darts and used two of them to tack the map up over the board itself. “Okay, come here.” Dwalin waved Thorin over.

“You're joking, right?” Thorin knew the routine.

“If we're going to get away, we might as well make it a surprise.”

Thorin laughed, it was ridiculous but he was already feeling better. He took the dart, twirled it around in his hand to feel the weight, took a deep breath, held it and with a quick flick of his wrist, sent the projectile in a beautiful shot, right into the map.

They both walked over together and stared at the impact sight.

“Hobbiton,” Dwalin said.

“Where the fuck is Hobbiton?” Thorin had never heard of the place.

“Oxfordshire.”

Thorin sighed. “So, we're going to Hobbiton?”

“We're going to Hobbiton,” Dwalin confirmed.

 _It'll be dull and boring,_ Thorin thought. “I'll bet you there will be nothing to do there.”

Dwalin shrugged. “At least no one will know you.”

 

 

To Be Continued ...

 

 

 

 


	4. Something Stronger

* * *

 

Bilbo had just opened the bookstore with his mum, when his mobile went off. There was so much to do, and figuring it was probably Ori, he continued to work; Ori could wait. Then the store phone started ringing. When that went to the answering machine, the caller left no message but Bilbo's mobile started going off again.

Then again.

And again.

Finally, after the fifth time, Bilbo couldn't take it anymore and he answered the phone.

“What is so--”

“Get down here now!”

“What?” Bilbo was confused.

“I don't care what you are doing,” Ori said over the phone. “Drop it. And get. Down. Here. NOW!”

“Are you ill?” Bilbo knew that Ori was working Dori's tea shop as the elder brother was in London at some sort of convention or gathering of merchants for the next several days. Maybe he had injured himself or had gotten suddenly, violently sick, or something like that. “Do I need to call Nori--”

“If you ever wanted your mind blown, now's your chance! So, get your arse, get down here and use the back door.”

“Excuse me?” Bilbo was so confused.

“JUST GET DOWN HERE!”

The phone disconnected.

Bilbo stared at his phone. Just what in the world was going on? He had no idea, but knowing Ori so well, at this stage, as worked up as he was, Ori would only call back over and over and over.

“MUM?!” Bilbo called out.

“YES, DEAR!” Belladonna returned the shout and then came into view at the back of the store. “Is there a problem, love?”

“Ori just called,” Bilbo said with a pointed look at his mother. “He wants me to run down to Dori's for some reason.”

“Is he all right?”

“He didn't say. Just demanded I drop what I was doing and 'Get. Down. Here. Now.'”

Belladonna laughed. This type of behavior was rather typical for both her son and his best-friend; despite both being twenty-two, they were still rather giggly and gossipy with each other. She found it as comforting as she did endearing. “Well, you better get hopping then, or he will only keep calling you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You don't need to remind me. I'll be back as soon as--”

“Don't rush,” Belladonna said softly. “Go. Have fun. There is nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow or next week frankly.”

“Tell Dad that,” Bilbo quipped as he took off his apron.

“Don't tease your father,” Belladonna said with a smile. She was perfectly aware that Bilbo was right; Bungo always thought everything needed to be done yesterday. She sighed. Bungo would probably think Bilbo was just playing hooky when he found out, so she had a brilliant idea. “Bilbo,” She called, just as the young man was about to walk out. “To make this a legit errand, would you post these?” she reached behind the counter and produced a stack of envelops.

“Sure thing,” Bilbo said, taking the stack and leaving.

Bilbo considered taking his bike but it was a lovely day, no reason to rush he was sure, so he walked to the post office, sent his mother's correspondence on their way and then trekked over to Dori's tea shop, _The Steep End._

Just as he approached he remembered what Ori had said and went around the back. He knocked once before opening the door. “Ori!” Bilbo called out as he closed the door behind him. “What the bloody hell was so import--”

Bilbo stilled as he entered the back room; Ori came through the curtained doorway from the front with a furious expression on his face, which was not in the least bit lessened by the petal pink bid apron he wore.

“What the fuck took you so long?!”

“I had to run to the post for--”

“ _The POST!_ Well, you'd deserve to miss out for that, but I have a feeling you won't.”

Bilbo huffed out a great sigh. He was over this. “What the hell does that mean? And for that matter, _what is going on_?!”

Ori huffed out a sigh of his own and his expression changed to something rather sly. “What would you say if I told you that your one of your fantasies was about to come true?”

Bilbo just cocked an eyebrow. “You know someone who will publish my first novel and make me independently wealthy?”

Ori rolled his eyes.

“Just. Tell. Me.”

Ori drew a breath first. “Okay. So, I got here a little early and decided to open the shop ahead of time. I was in the back … and it hadn't even been five minutes … when I hard the door. I came out and this absolutely, drop dead, fucking sexiest man I have ever seen in my life, I mean he was hotter than--”

“Get to the point, please.”

“Right,” Ori shook himself all over and started again. “So this guy asks about a good place to stay and where the local pub is, and so I tell him about Nori's place, but then I looked out the window and saw that he had a friend with him! And, you won't fucking guess who the guy outside--”

Ori was suddenly interrupted when the door bell jingled and a deep voice cut through the shop, “Hey, kid!”

Ori's eyes went wide and he pushed Bilbo up against the wall, whispering, “Stay here and stay quiet!” Ori turned away, straightened his apron, rolled his shoulders, ran his fingers through his shaggy-cut ginger hair and pasted a brilliant smile on his face, then pulled back the curtain that covered the doorway to the outer shop and stepped out.

“Hello there! I had a feeling I would be seeing you again.” Ori sounded amused but Bilbo also knew that tone; Ori was flirting.

“You didn't tell me the pub wasn't open.” The guy had a Scottish accent, and his voice reminded Bilbo of gravel, but it wasn't unpleasant.

“You didn't ask.” Ori's voice was smooth and again, amused.

Bilbo heard a deep laugh resound to that, but it was the rich voice that followed that got Bilbo's attention. “He's got you there, Dwalin.”

Dwalin growled at that statement and Ori giggled, but Bilbo was too mesmerized by the voice of the second customer to do more than register the others; his heart fluttered a bit and he would swear that the second voice still sounded in his ears. The voice was beautiful, in the way a mountain or huge oak tree was beautiful; strong and majestic. He sighed at the thought.

Dwalin, however, continued on. “Well, who the hell ever heard of a pub that didn't open until fucking one pm!”

Ori had an answer to that. “A pub where the owner drinks with the patrons until almost dawn.”

“That'll do it,” said the second man, and Bilbo felt a shiver move down his spine with the sound of the man's simple words.

“So,” Ori said softly, “I guess you'll be having breakfast with me after all.” Bilbo had to hand it to his friend, he knew how to work the charm.

There was a soft sound; a huffed laugh maybe. “I guess I will,” the man named Dwalin replied; it was softly said but it was clear the man was returning Ori's flirting.

“Excuse me,” the second man said in his oh so sexy voice, “but if you two would like, I can leave you alone to get a room.”

“Fuck you,” Dwalin spat out and Bilbo would bet that it the words were accompanied by a matching hand gesture; especially given the second man's and Ori's laughter that followed.

“What would you gentleman like?” Ori became all business but he was keep it light.

“You wouldn't happen to have something stronger than tea, would you?” Dwalin asked.

“You mean like coffee?” Ori teased.

“Not exactly what he meant,” the second guy added in amusement.

“This is a tea shop, not the pub,” Ori snarked and the second man laughed at what Bilbo could guess was the Dwalin guy's disappointed face. “However,” Ori went on and Bilbo heard the clink of glass and knew what Ori was getting. “I might be persuaded to make you Irish Coffee.”

Dori always had a bottle of good Irish Whiskey on hand for those ladies that wanted a 'pick me up' with their tea.

“And what do we have to do to persuade ya'?” Dwalin said; his accent getting thicker and deeper with innuendo.

“We can talk about that later,” Ori added.

“Again, I'll be glad to leave you two alone,” the second man quipped.

“Shut. Up.” Dwalin said, but the other man only laughed.

“Is there anything in particular you want to eat along with your coffee?” Ori asked.

“Surprise me,” Dwalin said and Bilbo heard the scrap of a chair on the floor.

“I intend to,” Ori said, his voice filled with promise and both of the men laughed at that. “It'll just be a few.”

Ori came through the curtained doorway, whispering loudly, “Oh my God, that guy's so hot!”

Bilbo followed suit and whispered as well. “You certainly didn't hold back the flirting.”

Ori smirked. “Oh yes I did! There was so much more I wanted to say.”

“More? You practically told him you were ripe for him!”

“You think? That will save time later.”

Bilbo gawped. “Holy shit, you just met him!”

“Yes, and if he and I were alone in this shop, I'd already let him have more than breakfast!”

“Ori!”

“What? It's true!” Ori didn't believe in the word shame. “Now come on, you need to help make breakfast for these guys.”

“Don't tell me you had me run all the way down here to help you make breakfast?!”

“No!” Ori insisted and then shrugged. “Well … kind of, I knew they would be back, but, trust me, you will find it worthwhile.”

“Care to explain that?” Bilbo asked, but he was already putting on a bid apron exactly like Ori's, as he headed to the fridge to get the needed supplies.

“Don't need to,” Ori stated, pulling out clear glass mugs from the cupboard, and turning on the electric kettle. “Just trust me!”

Bilbo shook his head and decided that he would have to. He knew Ori well enough to know that there was more than just cooking and flirting going on, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out.

The two of them just got down to business, and in no time, had four soft boiled eggs, several pieces of thick sliced brown bread, toasted, a large handful of sausages, a plate piled high with scones, a couple of jars of Dori's homemade jams – plum and red current – as well as clotted cream and soft butter, all set on a tray. Everything was ready to be taken out to the guys in the front room; Ori took hold of the two big mugs of Irish Coffee.

“Go on,” Ori urged in a firm whisper.

“What?!” Bilbo whispered back, thinking he heard wrong. But no, he hadn't.

“You take the tray,” Ori said, “I'll take the coffees.”

“You want me out there?! Are you _high_?”

“No. But you will be.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just take it! Before the warm stuff gets cold and the cold stuff gets warm.”

“Why should I--”

“Trust me!”

Bilbo sighed but did it. He followed behind Ori.

“Here we are,” Ori said brightly.

Bilbo was too busy balancing the heavy tray to really get a good look. Peripherally, he took in that the guys were both big, one had a mohawk and the other had long hair but he didn't want to look up and potentially drop the food.

As he began placing the food on the table, Ori started speaking. “We hope you enjoy it.”

“Thanks, kid,” Dwalin said and Bilbo chanced a quick look at the man; broad, burly, full thick black beard, mohawk that was just long enough to have a little wave to it but still neat and intense, deep green eyes that were giving Ori the once over; over and over and over.

“The name's Ori, by the way.”

“I'm--”

“Dwalin,” Ori stated, drawing out the name and making it sound just a bit breathy; still working it.

“Yeah,” Dwalin said, again amused. “And this is my cousin, Thorin.”

“Nice to met you, Ori,” the Thorin guy said before asking quietly, “And what's your name.”

Bilbo knew he was the one being asked. “Bilbo,” he said, as he finally turned to look at the man who's voice had been doing things to him since the first time he heard it.

That was when he lost the ability to breath.

 _Oh. My. God. It's him!_ Bilbo thought, as his mind was completely blown and the world stood still.

 

 

 

 To Be Continued ...

 

 

 


	5. The Unfairness of Life

* * *

 

His hearing was the first sense to come back to him.

“Bil! Can you hear me?”

_That's Ori; I'd know that voice anywhere._

“Is he okay?”

_Don't know who that is but their voice is lovely._

“Could you guys help him sit up?”

“Come on, kid.”

Bilbo had the urge to giggle; _That guy sounds like rock._

“It's alright, Bilbo. Just take some deep breaths.”

_Aren't I breathing already? How odd._

“Hold him; I'll be right back.”

_Hold? Who's holding me? What's going on?_

Suddenly Bilbo's face and head exploded, he gasped for air, sputtering; Ori had just shoved half a cup of anomia under his nose.

“Oh thank God! I'd hate to have to call his mother.”

That woke Bilbo up completely. “Don’t you dare call my mother … what's happening?”

“You fainted, kid.”

Bilbo turned his head and found himself looking a bushy bearded, mohawked guy, who was holding him upright and – _Dwalin. The guy's name is Dwlain._

Bilbo pushed away from the burly guy, only to start toppling in the other direction; he wasn't fast enough to catch himself.

“Hang on there,” said the “lovely” voice as someone else wrapped an arm around him.

Bilbo turned the other way and paused. _It's Romance Guy! The man from novel covers! He's right here! I'm sitting on the floor and he's got an arm around me and he is so handsome and – THORIN! He has a name! Thorin!_

Bilbo wasn't so out of it to push away from him.

“I … I'm okay,” Bilbo whispered, looking away from Thorin's face. All the while, leaning a bit more into the man. “What happened though?”

“You passed out,” Dwalin stated flatly.

“Swooned more like it,” Ori added with an audible smirk.

“Do you faint often?” Thorin almost sounded concerned, as he leaned down closer to Bilbo's ear.

However, Bilbo was a little indignant at the remarks. “I didn't pass out, and I certainly didn't … didn't swoon! I …. I …. I just got lightheaded and dizzy.”

“What's the difference?” Thorin asked, amused but not unkind.

Once again, Bilbo felt a twinge of annoyance at the question. “Although one could … could easily think they are … similar or … or alike, 'passed out' makes it sound like … like I was drunk or something.” Bilbo _had_ to push away from Thorin, because the guy was horribly distracting; he couldn't think and he needed to right then. “I just got lightheaded; I didn't … eat this morning.” That was stretching it, he did have a muffin, but no one needed to know that. “Therefore, I … I … got dizzy. I never really lost consciousness.” Okay, that was totally a lie but he dared anyone to challenge him on it.

Ori took that challenge. “You were out like a light.”

 _Shut up, Ori!_ Bilbo, didn’t speak, just glared at his friend, who looked like he was about to burst into laughter, but was keeping silent.

“Besides,” Bilbo continued, “Fainting and … and _'swoon'_ , makes it sound like I’m some delicate, hot-house flower … _which I am not_ , thank you very much.”

“Or one of those romance novels,” Ori quietly quipped.

But not so quietly that Bilbo didn't hear.

Bilbo kicked Ori in the shin but it didn't stop Ori's giggling. Bilbo huffed out a sigh and held out his hand; Ori could bloody well help Bilbo up, because he had to get off the floor and try and regain some dignity. Besides, Thorin was still too close for comfort. Well, maybe comfort wasn't the right word; Thorin had been so wondrously comfortable to lean against and he smelled good, like a sun-warmed field or – _okay, it really was time to get up._

Standing, Bilbo was happy to see that he had gotten all the food on the table before falling; although, there was the tray. He scanned the area around him but when he turned, he saw that Thorin was calming holding out the tray for him.

“Looking for this?”

Bilbo was sure his face would catch fire from his blush. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Sure you're okay?” Thorin asked, moving to sit in his chair.

“Yes. Totally.” At least, Bilbo was sure he _would be_ once he got out of Thorin's general vicinity. “If everyone will excuse me,” Bilbo headed towards the back. “I have work to do.” He didn't really but doing the dishes would distract him.

“You gentleman enjoy your breakfast,” Ori called and followed after Bilbo.

Ori was only a few second behind Bilbo, but as he came through the curtained doorway to the back room and kitchen, Bilbo was already at the sink, gathering dishes and turning on the water.

“Are you okay, really?” Ori said softly as he came up beside his friend.

Bilbo nodded. “I just wasn't … wasn't prepared.” He turned a scowling face to Ori and hissed, “Why the hell didn't you warn me?!”

Ori at least had the presence of mind to look guilty. “I wanted it to be a surprise; I thought you would be thrilled. I didn't think you would faint.”

“Well, I did,” Bilbo said waspishly, turning back to the quickly filling sink and adding soap. “Totally humiliated myself in front him! I'm so embarrassed!”

“I'm sorry, Bilbo. Honestly, if I'd thought--”

Bilbo just shook his head; he didn't want to talk about it.

Ori got the hint and didn't say anything more, just began to gather the remaining dirty dishes, pans and bowls and after placing them next to Bilbo for washing, took to drying anything wet that Bilbo handed off to him.

There were just about to finish when a voice sounded behind them.

“Hey, kid,” Dwalin said from the doorway.

Bilbo stiffened but didn't turn, while Ori spun around.

“We're, uhm … we're heading out.”

“Oh,” Ori quickly dried his hands. “So soon.”

“Yeah,” Dwalin started fishing in his pocket. “We're going to get settled in. Here.” Dwalin pulled out a note and held it out for Ori.

Ori walked over, took the money but almost blanched when he unfolded it; it was a fifty-pound note. “Oh bloody hell, I hope I have enough in the till for change.”

“Sod the change,” Dwalin said casually with a shrug.

Ori laughed at the thought. “Are you mental? It was breakfast, not a seven-course meal! Let me get you change.” Ori went to move past the burly man, but Dwalin threw a hand across the doorway and stopped him.

“I said keep it,” Dwalin stated softly but pointedly and then looked to call over to Bilbo. “You okay over there?”

Bilbo made to turn his head but didn't; refusing to face Dwalin. “Yes. I'm … I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” Bilbo snapped, but regretted his outburst immediately, so added quickly, more kindly, “But, I … I thank you for asking.”

Dwalin didn’t respond, just nodded and turned back to Ori. “See ya, ‘round.”

“I can hope so,” Ori said, letting a smirk play about his mouth.

Dwalin huffed out sigh, but smiled and shook his head.

As Ori walked back over to Bilbo, they both heard the distinct ring of the door chimes.  Ori finished drying the dishes and then they both put everything away. 

“I’m really sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo just shrugged.  “Forget it. It’s over now and … let’s just forget it.”

Ori nodded but said nothing more. 

In moments the door chimed again, and Ori heard a pleasant voice call out hello. “Be right with you!”   Ori hailed back, but looked at Bilbo before going.  “Are you going to go back to the store?”

Bilbo paused for the moment in thought.  “No.  Mum said to have fun and not to rush back, so I think I will stay.”

“Okay. You’re welcome to.” Ori moved to the curtained doorway and Bilbo heard him greet the ladies that came in.  “Good morning, Mrs. Longbottom, Mrs. Marchbanks.  How are you both today?”

For the rest of the day, Bilbo stayed and helped Ori.  It was nice to remain behind the scenes as it were and simple make tea and sandwiches, arrange biscuits and scones on plates and do dishes; dishes allowed him to forget better than anything.

By closing time, Bilbo was ready to head home.  The morning was now just a distinct memory, however bitter it still felt inside, but at least he was confident that it was done with and that the two men – well, Thorin to be more exact – would be gone by tomorrow and he could forget about the whole, nasty thing. 

Thorin would go back to wherever he came from, and Bilbo would go back to his fantasies.  Of course, now Bilbo had a voice to fuel those fantasies.

“Did you have a nice day, sweetheart?” Belladonna said, as Bilbo came into the house.

“Yes,” Bilbo lie effortlessly.

“Was Ori okay?”

“Yeah … he, uhm … he was excited about something he … read and wanted to share it with me.”  It was horribly vague and he prayed his mother wouldn’t ask—

“What was it?“

 _Dammit._  "It was about a, uhm …” Bilbo stumbled for a moment, until his mind latched onto Dori - and his recent trip.  “… uhm, there is going to be a convention of writers and illustrators and … and Ori wanted to talk about us maybe, uhm … maybe going.”

“How lovely!”  Belladonna was nothing if not supportive of Bilbo’s aspirations.

“I told him I wasn’t sure and—”

“Oh, you must go, darling!”

“Where’s he going?”  Bungo asked as he came into the foyer.

“Bilbo and Ori are going to some gathering for writers and illustrators!” Belladonna looked like she was already mentally packing Bilbo’s overnight bag.

“Nothings decided yet, Mum.”

“Where is this gathering?” Bungo asked; he didn’t look anywhere near as enthusiastic as his wife.  Not at all.

“Yes where is it?”  Belladonna’s excitement was barely contained.

“Ah … London.”  It was all Bilbo could think of.

Bungo most certainly didn’t look pleased.  “London is a dangerous place, and I don’t think—”

“They’re grown boys,” Belladonna was on the verge of putting her foot down. “And they are certainly mature enough to go to London on their own.”

“I’m going to go get ready for dinner,” Bilbo said quickly and made a dash upstairs to his room.  Even with the door closed, he could hear the faint, bickering of his parents below. What he was going to do about the lie, he had no idea, but he’d think of some excuse; changed their mind, tell his mum it was too expensive, maybe say Dori would't allow Ori to go, something, anything.  

He stripped out of his dirty clothes and had himself a wash. He was just buttoning up his clean shirt when he heard it; _thud, thud, crack_ – a neighbor was chopping wood.

As he walked over to the window, judging from the sound's direction, he figured it was from the Gamgee’s; they owned a large house directly behind the Baggins’ and now that they only had two little ones at home, rented out rooms like a bed and breakfast.

He pulled back the curtain and froze.

_No!  This can’t be happening to me!  It can’t!_

Right there, in the Gamgee’s back garden, in a direct view from Bilbo’s bedroom window was Thorin, shirtless, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, his muscled torso and hairy chest gleaming with sweat, raising an axe above his head and was, indeed, chopping wood. 

The view was practically pornographic.

However, Bilbo’s luck – or lack of in his opinion – held out and before he could pull himself away from window, Thorin looked up, raised an eyebrow, lowered the axe and then waved at Bilbo.  In a trance, Bilbo waved back and watched as Thorin went back to work.

Bilbo slowly turned, leaned against the wall next to the window and slid to the floor.  He shut his eyes tight and bemoaned the unfairness of life.   _At least I didn’t faint this time_ , he thought as his heart beat to the _thud, thud, crack_ of Thorin’s chopping.

 

 

 


End file.
